


Ghost in My House

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Inappropriate touching, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Genjo Sanzo gets help from an unlikely source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost in My House

The last things he remembers are the aches and pains, the chills, and his Smith &amp; Wesson leveled shakily at the nearest of his attackers. He never gets the shot off before Touya Genjo Sanzo, the thirty-first of China's world fades blissfully into black.

Now, awake again, his eyelids feel too heavy to lift, his limbs are leaden and his breathing labored. So he listens. A fire crackles nearby. Further in the distance, someone with a good voice hums a lilting tune. His body is warm and damp with sweat -- Sanzo can tell he's still feverish, though -- he struggles to awaken from the twilight world he's suspended in, until a cool hand rests comfortingly on his forehead.

"Sleep, little Kouryuu," a vaguely familiar voice encourages.

"Master?" he rasps before he sinks into the depths of a fevered slumber.

* * * *

Ukoku Sanzo's hand slides away as Kouryuu's, now _Genjo_ Sanzo's breath once again evens out. He's still puzzled by his own behavior -- by how he's come to be nursemaid to Koumyou Sanzo's little brat.

It had been fortuitous to come upon the scene as he had, to see the former Kouryuu in such dire trouble. Ukoku had recognized the mop of unruly blond hair immediately for the boy he'd always been inordinately jealous over and, at first, Ukoku had been content to watch the drama play out. But then something - a conscience? - had urged him to intervene. It hadn't been a fair fight after all, he'd decided afterwards.

And so, the power of nothingness -- _his_ power over the Muten sutra had dispensed with the would-be rapist-murderers with cold efficiency. In the end, Ukoku supposed, he couldn't bear to watch Genjo Sanzo violated by some common swine. They'd stripped the unconscious youth and tied him up in a neat package, immobilizing him with an intricate _shibari_ pattern. Ukoku had watched with growing contempt as grubby hands had pawed over pale skin, poking and prodding at the inert body as if it were some cheap slab of meat. The scene, in all its lurid detail, had been illuminated by ghostly moonlight, and when Ukoku had hazarded a glance up at the full moon, the image of Koumyou's face had flashed down upon him, spurring him into action before he realized what he was doing. He had the element of surprise on his side though; pity the goons never saw it coming. They'd died with confused looks on their faces, as if something had gone awry, but not one of them was sure of just exactly it was that had happened. Afterwards, Ukoku had stood amid the carnage, the smell of fresh blood and innards perfuming the air, reminding him of a time not so long ago, when he'd achieved his ascendancy. Koumyou had been there on that day, too. Then, Ukoku had wrapped Genjo Sanzo's shivering form in the robe that had been torn from his body, thrown the boy over his shoulder and carried him to his camp.

Hours had passed by, Ukoku carefully tending to Koumyou's waif of a son, bathing the younger sanzo's fevered body in cool water, gently forcing a warm gruel past his lips as often as possible. Early on, Ukoku had tried to free Kouryuu's hands, only to hastily rebind them when the youth, delusional from his high fever, became mad with the idea of escape by any means, including a desperate grab for his gun. Ukoku wasn't sure whether it was to point the weapon at him or himself; he didn't wait to find out.

* * * *

Sanzo knows he's safe. He's with Koumyou. That familiar assurance allows him to sink back into oblivion; he will be taken care of, watched over. He feels hands ghosting over his body, cool fluid on hot skin before the warm security of blankets envelopes him once again.

* * * *

_Master?_

The word echoes as Ukoku turns it over and over in his mind as he tends to the kid. Koumyou's absence hits him like a freight train when he finishes. Ukoku is left breathless, his chest aching as if he's been physically punched. Wandering through life as he does, Ukoku has pretended that Koumyou is still alive, still holding court at Kinzan, _always_ \-- eerily -- ready for his errant lover's impromptu appearances. But the boy, actually not a boy any longer -- as his naked body now snuggled under the blankets could attest -- in his sanzo garb, complete with Koumyou's crown, proves with solemn finality that Koumyou Sanzo is dead.

If only it were that simple, though. Because Koumyou does still exist -- he is a shard of glass that has pierced Ukoku's icy heart; he's honest enough with his feelings to admit that much. Ukoku closes his eyes. Rubbing them beneath the lenses of his glasses, he imagines himself standing on the edge of a bottomless chasm that stretches between the present and the past. Koumyou fell in there, and somehow Ukoku knows he must move forward -- toward the future -- but, freed from Koumyou's influence, he's almost afraid to face the man he knows he is destined to become.

A log splits apart in the heat of the fire, the loud report sending sparks swirling into the inky sky. Genjo Sanzo moans a sigh and Ukoku hears the sound of his teeth chattering. The fever has been unshakable but Ukoku has been equally tenacious. He's fairly certain it is dying out; a little more warmth and the kid will be all right. He's already given over all the meager blankets he has, and Ukoku has no inclination to be scrambling through the underbrush to stoke the fire.

He knows he's treading into dangerous territory -- but he's never been prudent. He strips out of his garments and carefully sets them aside before he slides under the covers he's swaddled the younger sanzo in. Spooning the helpless teen, Ukoku hisses out a breath as his skin comes into contact with Genjo Sanzo's heated flesh. In his fever-fueled sleep, the kid presses against Ukoku's warmth and Ukoku languidly strokes along Sanzo's side, his fingers tracing over the sophisticated shapes formed by the shibari. His dick hardens as the boy nuzzles even closer. It would be so easy to take him like this, Ukoku thinks darkly. To spread his ass and press inside -- to bury himself in Koumyou's son; the idea nearly overwhelms him. Ukoku groans softly at the thought, then closes his eyes and focuses on evening out his breath. He knows he's playing with fire, though, when he slides his hand over Sanzo's chest and teases a nipple. He's pleased by the way it peaks under his touches. The kid mewls at the sensation and Ukoku moves his hand over to toy with the neglected twin, marveling at how responsive the younger man's body is to his ministrations. Ukoku's thoughts take him back to the last time he'd been with Koumyou. It had been a rare occasion when the elder sanzo had let Ukoku take him. He closes his eyes and for a moment, he's lying with Koumyou, desire washing over his body as his hands rove over supple skin, the dull ache of need settling in his balls. His actions draw another moan from Sanzo, and the inflection of his voice, so different from his master's, brings Ukoku back from his reverie.

His relationship with Koumyou, as required by their shared title, had been a clandestine one, but that regulation had done little to diminish its intensity. Even now Ukoku feels acutely the loss of his friend and lover. He wishes he could lay with Koumyou just one last time -- share an evening of conversation and debauchery. In Ukoku's state - exhausted from his endless travel and aroused by his lover's ghost, it's become easy to imagine _this_ sanzo, who ascended after Koumyou, could be his ideal replacement.

* * * *

In the cold dawn, Ukoku awakens to the reality of his situation. Sanzo's body has become stiff against him. He opens his eyes to the young man's blurry visage, but even his poor eyesight can recognize the angry scowl.

The kid has always been too serious, he thinks, and now, when Ukoku has found his glasses, he can read Sanzo's frown in perfect focus. But there's a wariness to Sanzo's mask, an uncertainty that Ukoku seeks immediately to capitalize upon. The spell of the prior evening has been broken, though, and Ukoku snorts derisively at the memory of his longing, the evidence of his weakness. He reaches for the neat pile of his clothes and fishes out his jeans.

"Were you expecting the Inquisition?" he asks flippantly as he wriggles into the stiff denim. He curls to a sitting position and grabs his smokes. The morning air is crisp. His nipples become taut from the cold.

"Untie me." Sanzo's eyes are clear of all fevered residue.

"You're welcome," Ukoku sneers, striking a match and bringing the flame to the end of his cigarette. The kid is tough, he admires begrudgingly. Even helpless, he's not giving an inch.

He casts a sidelong glance in Sanzo's direction; he is fighting the bindings, becoming angrier by the second. Ukoku keeps his eyes trained on the captive as he rifles through Sanzo's belongings. His hand finds what he's been blindly looking for; he wraps his fingers around the butt end of the Smith &amp; Wesson and draws it out. Sanzo freezes, his eyes glued to the gun.

"You do realize I rescued you? They were planning a little party, and you were the favor," he remarks evenly. Ukoku stares intently at the weapon, he pores over the gleaming surface.

"You're expecting me to thank you? For what?"

As Ukoku continues to study the gun, a long-forgotten conversation with Koumyou comes to his mind.

_"Shall we make a bet, Ukoku?"_

"What's the wager?"

"The next rising sun."

He presses a small button and the cylinder containing the bullets swings free. Ukoku dumps them into his hand and then heaves them over hand into the nearby trees. That will either give him a head start or the kid enough time to cool off before doing something stupid, he thinks. The game has just begun! He places the gun on top of Sanzo's sutra and finishes dressing.

"He would be so disappointed to see you like this, Kouryuu," he admonishes, deliberately using Sanzo's given name. He's managed to pack the last of his belongings in a small shoulder bag, leaving some underclothes to replace the ones that had been shredded from the kid by his assailants.

"Is this how you squander his sacrifice? In your own pity?" Ukoku crouches catlike next to the teen. He slides his fingers under Sanzo's chin and lifts it, forcing their eyes to meet. The angry fire that burns in Sanzo's violet depths sends a thrill down Ukoku's spine, and a leer cuts his face before he crushes their lips together. He takes advantage of the distraction to tug at the single knot that resolves the crisscross of ropes holding Sanzo fast. And then, just as quickly, Ukoku lets go.

Sanzo sputters from the kiss and the shock of the suddenly loosened bindings. Ukoku rises, adjusts his satchel over his shoulder and turns to leave. When he turns back for one last look at the kid, the ropes that had bound him lie in a scribble on ground. Sanzo has grabbed his clothing and is trying to dress; his spastic limbs are having trouble obeying him, though. It's almost comical, and Ukoku, so recently enlightened, does laugh out loud. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to stifle the peals.

"We will meet again someday, Touya Genjo Sanzo, the thirty-first of China," Ukoku states as he places his straw hat jauntily upon his head. "And I promise you this. Next time, I'll be more accommodating of your wishes," he adds, before he turns away and disappears into the forest.


End file.
